


Tasteless Love

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Baking, But they love him anyway, Developing Relationship, Eddie Can't Cook, Father-Son Relationship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, dear discord: yes this is the brownie fic, especially Buck, the 118 is basically a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: Eddie is a terrible cook. Buck either doesn't care, or he's lying to Eddie's face about it.Probably the second option, right?
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know this took me ages to get published, but I wanted to have everything just right before I got there. So for the next week and a half, enjoy my antics and come scream at me if you must. But not too loudly or I may cry.

Eddie comes into the station and sits a foil-covered plate on the kitchen counter. 

“Guys! Chris and I made brownies again yesterday. Plate’s in the kitchen!” He calls out to whomever might be listening, knowing that sound carries through the building well, and goes downstairs to put his bag in his locker. 

When he comes back upstairs, everyone is clustered around the counter, holding brownies carefully in napkins. 

“I let Chris do the powdered sugar; sorry if they’re a little messy.” He winces, but has yet to see anyone take a bite. 

They all look at each other, and Chimney takes a tiny nibble from the corner of his brownie. 

“Wow,” he mumbles around the mouthful. That’s … a brownie alright. You, uh, you guys must have worked really hard on these.” 

“Worked hard on what?” Buck comes bounding up the stairs, and Bobby meets him at the top, stopping him with a hand on his chest. 

“ _Eddie_ brought _brownies_.” He says, raising his eyebrows at Buck’s enthusiastic smile. 

“Really? Awesome! Thanks, Eds!” He reaches for a napkin and takes two brownies off the plate. 

“Whoa, pace yourself there,” Hen hides a laugh behind her hand and takes a tentative bite. These are really … there’s a lot of sugar in here. And on top. Don’t need you all riled up today.” 

But Buck has already chewed his way through the first half of a brownie, crumbs sticking to his lips. 

“Dude, any brownie is a good brownie.” His words are muffled because he can’t be bothered to empty his mouth long enough to speak. 

Bobby mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “I wouldn’t go that far,” but looks up at Eddie. “So, Chris is becoming a chef now, huh?” 

“Well, sort of.” Eddie shrugs. “He picked the mix out at the store, but I got saddled with most of the mixing so he could ‘save his energy’ to help lick the bowl. But we had fun, and this way I don’t have to keep his fingers out of the entire pan.” 

“You took these from Chris?!” Buck swats him on the arm as he reaches for a third and fourth brownie. 

“Don’t worry, there’s some at home still.” 

“Still, you shouldn’t have done that! He worked HARD licking that bowl, I’m sure of it.” 

“Yeah, Eddie, you really shouldn’t have.” When Eddie looks at him questioningly, Bobby clears his throat. “I mean, unless Christopher wanted to share.” 

“It was his idea, actually, to share with his friends from Dad’s work.” Eddie beams, like he always does when he gets to talk about his son. His phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket to look at the screen. “Hang on, that’s Carla. Probably time to cajole Chris into doing his homework; I’ve gotta take this.” 

Eddie walks downstairs, and as soon as his back is turned, three brownies slide into the trashcan. 

“You think he knows he can’t bake?” Chimney whispers to the rest of the group. 

“If he knows and keeps bringing treats in, Athena should arrest him for trying to poison us.” Hen grumbles and rolls her eyes when Bobby glares at her playfully. 

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” Buck is facing the balcony, watching his friend pace the length of the common area with his phone against his ear. “These are _delicious_.” 

* * *

It continues like this, every time Eddie brings a plate of baked goods to share with the 118. Sometimes it’s cookies that could break teeth, or cupcakes that have streaks of unmixed egg swirling through them. On one particularly memorable occasion, he brings in lemon bars topped with baking soda instead of powdered sugar, claiming to have run out of sugar and “improvised with what was on hand.” 

But brownies seem to be a favorite, making frequent appearances on the kitchen counter. 

And every time, it’s the same. Everyone nibbles politely, finds a vague descriptor that sounds mostly complimentary, and waits for Eddie to walk away so they can sneak the “treats” into the trashcan. No one has the heart to break it to him, especially when he always says that Christopher helped with the baking. 

Except Buck, who always devours at least half of the platter while he chats idly with Eddie, seemingly unaware that the food he's eating is hardly edible. 

Eventually, Eddie catches on. No one ever goes back for seconds (except Buck) or actually says the food is any good (except Buck). 

But what really settles it for him is another set of brownies. This time, even Eddie knows they didn’t turn out right. The batter looked vaguely grey when it went in the oven, and didn’t look any better when it was finished baking. 

He didn’t even bother cutting them out of the dish, but put some foil over the top and carried it to work anyway, hoping he’d have a minute to ask Bobby if there was any way to tell what he’d done wrong. As usual, he puts the pan on the kitchen counter, but instead of calling out for everyone to come taste, he wanders off in search of the captain. 

But before he can find Bobby, he walks back through the kitchen, where Buck is lifting a large brownie out of the corner and setting a knife on the counter. 

“Buck, you don’t want to-” But Buck cuts him off before he can finish the warning, cramming a huge bite into his mouth and spitting crumbs out as he talks. 

“Eddie! More brownies? Thanks dude, these are great.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me, man. I know they suck.” Eddie rolls his eyes, waiting for Buck to spit into his napkin. Only he doesn’t. Instead, Eddie watches him swallow the bite and stare at him in confusion. 

“What? Nah, these taste like every other time you make brownies.” He’s staring so intensely that Eddie almost believes him, aside from knowing that brownies should be, well … brown. “Dude, pinky swear.” 

He holds his finger out, and Eddie absently reaches forward with his own to twist them together, watching Buck take another big bite. 

_There’s no way these brownies taste as good as Buck says they do._

So as soon as Buck drops his finger, Eddie carefully trims a tiny edge from the pan and pops it into his own mouth. 

It’s dry, but somehow also soggy, and the taste reminds him of the time he squeezed a bottle of baby powder too hard and it puffed all over his face. 

Simply put, they’re terrible. And Buck just promised that they weren’t. 

Clearly, he’s been lying to protect Eddie’s feelings. A noble pursuit, maybe, but Eddie hates the feeling that Buck is handling him with kid gloves, so he brings his hand down against the counter harder than strictly necessary and watches Buck startle at the sudden noise. 

“Seriously, man? Don’t lie to me. They’re not good!” 

“You think I’d eat half the pan every time if your brownies weren’t good?” Buck rolls his eyes, genuinely confused as he reaches for the knife and cuts himself a second helping. “I mean they’re not gourmet or anything, but they’re a solid brownie. I swear.” 

Eddie sighs and walks away. Buck is still lying to him, he’s sure, and he doesn’t want to hang around long enough to say something he’ll regret. 

Besides, now he has to figure out what he’s going to do about it. 

By the time he’s found Bobby, Eddie couldn’t care less about what went wrong with his brownies this time. He’s too busy trying to come up with other kitchen mistakes he can engineer, other ways to prove that Buck is lying to him. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's always a disaster in the kitchen, but it can, in fact, get worse.

Two days later, Eddie comes in and sets a tray of muffins on the counter. This time, he’d deliberately baked them with extra salt, and tried one himself to make sure that they weren’t good before he brought them to the station. 

They were so bad, in fact, that he briefly felt bad for attempting to poison his coworkers, until he remembered that no one but Buck had touched anything he’s brought in for over a month. 

And really, Buck is the crux of the problem here. 

So Eddie sits the muffins down and leans against the counter with his cup of coffee, waving at Buck when he walks in. 

“Eddie! Ooh, did you bring more goodies?” Buck seems so excited that Eddie considers telling him the truth, but given how poorly he bakes when he’s not trying to screw it up, there’s always the chance that at least one of the muffins came full circle and will taste delicious. 

Right? 

“Blueberry muffins,” Eddie says by way of an answer, carefully watching Buck take his first bite. 

“I _love_ blueberry muffins, man!” He claps Eddie on the shoulder and takes another bite. “Seriously, what’s with all the baking lately? Not that I’m complaining, but my gym time is gonna have to double if you keep this up.” 

“Just trying a new hobby.” Eddie shrugs, hoping the gesture comes off as nonchalantly as he wants it to. “Besides, Chris loves helping. Says he’s ‘supervising me’ to get out of doing any of the work, but he’s having fun, so why would I argue?” 

“You wouldn’t.” Buck agrees, reaching for a second muffin. All in all, Eddie watches him eat four muffins before the alarm goes off for their first call. Every time he reaches for another, Eddie tells himself that he’ll stop him the next time, but he’s so busy trying to figure out why Buck hasn’t noticed the salty taste that he lets it go on, hoping every time that he’ll find his answer in Buck’s next bite. 

He never says anything, though, and shoves half of the last muffin in his mouth as they jog down the stairs to put on their gear. 

So the next week, Eddie brings in a pie. Except he “forgets” to bake the crust before he adds the creamy filling, and the center never sets up like it’s supposed to. 

(Truth be told, only the crust was intentional. He has no idea what happened to the center, but something didn’t go according to plan. Even if the entire plan was “bake a pie so bad that Buck is forced to admit he’s a terrible cook.”) 

Buck eats close to a third of it, idly reaching for a spoon while he chats with Eddie so he can scrape the liquid-y filling off the bottom of the bowl he served it into. The closest thing he gets to criticism is when Buck asks when he’s bringing in the brownies again. 

Clearly, Buck is a better liar than he’d thought. 

Eddie has one trick left, and it lies in the bottom of a box of brownies. He mixes the batter according to the box, and turns back to his first weapon: salt. After he pours the batter in the pan, he sprinkles the top heavily with salt. When the brownies come out of the oven, the crystals are still clearly visible on the surface. 

They even _look_ salty. Surely Buck won’t be able to hide his disgust this time. 

Especially not when Eddie puts the brownies down and walks away, watching carefully from the other room as Buck’s eyes light up when he sees the glass baking dish in the kitchen. 

Sure enough, he cuts a large serving, nearly a fourth of the pan, and takes a big bite. 

Which he promptly spits into the sink. 

_Because of course he does. Because Eddie poured half an ocean’s worth of salt_ _on top of them._

Eddie watches him rinse his mouth out and wishes he felt a stronger sense of vindication. 

Instead, all he feels is hurt. Hurt that Buck felt the need to lie to him in the first place, didn’t think they were in a place where he could tell Eddie honestly what he thought. Hurt that when Eddie tried to call it out, Buck didn’t fess up, he kept lying. Hurt that Buck looked him in the eye and pinky swore that he was telling the truth. 

He thought that had all meant something. 

But apparently, he was wrong. So instead of confronting Buck, instead of yelling and arguing, Eddie turns around quietly and goes to work out until the buzzing in his mind goes away. 

It takes two weeks for anyone to point out that Eddie hasn’t brought anything in lately, and even then, it’s not anyone from the station. He spends the time pretending like nothing has changed. Because as far as everyone else seems concerned, nothing has changed, and Eddie doesn’t want to stir up trouble where there isn’t any. 

But then Christopher asks him over breakfast one Friday morning if Carla can help him make cookies after school and deliver them to the 118 at dinnertime. 

Eddie’s kneejerk instinct is to turn him down, but then his kid looks up at him with the puppy-dog eyes he’s just started using to manipulate him, and he’s texting Bobby to ask about putting two more plates around the table that night. 

They’ve just gotten back from a call when he hears Christopher’s voice echoing off of the walls of the garage, calling out for Buck, whose excited shouts are also floating through the station. 

Carla is right behind him, carrying a Ziploc bag full of chocolate chip cookies. The rest of the team is in the kitchen, helping get dinner served, so she’s able to address the whole group at once. 

“I just wanted to give y’all a little heads up … there are some … extra ingredients in here.” 

“Extra ingredients?” Bobby is the one who gives voice to the question on everyone’s mind as their eyes flit back and forth. “Such as?” 

“Paprika and garlic powder, that I noticed. I turned around for two seconds to grab the eggs and little man got into the spice cabinet. He, uh, he said that since his dad likes spicy food, maybe he’d like spicy cookies too.” 

Everyone blinks at Eddie, who honestly doesn’t have a response. It sounds perfectly like eight-year-old logic, and honestly, Christopher can’t be a worse cook than Eddie himself. 

“He was really excited about this this morning. I saw how you all reacted to my cooking. Think you can pull it off one more time? I’ll talk to him about it when we get home, I promise.” Everyone looks around and nods, even if Bobby does look a little green in the face at the thought of a chocolate chip-paprika-garlic powder cookie. 

Honestly, Eddie can’t say that he blames him. And he ate the grey brownies. 

Eddie really does mean to warn Buck. Letting him dive headfirst into Christopher’s cookies feels like it’s over the line, even given the circumstances. But before he gets a chance to talk to him, Christopher is practically dragging Buck through the fire station and up to the kitchen, past where everyone else is in the dining room. 

“And I added the _secret ingredient_!” Eddie hears from the other room. He looks up in alarm, moving toward the kitchen to try and intervene. But he hears the bag rustle and a short silence before Christopher asks Buck what he thinks. 

“These are great, kiddo! You really made them all by yourself?” 

“Well, me and Carla together.” 

Christopher spends close to 15 minutes telling Buck all about the steps he and Carla used to make their cookies, never revealing the ‘secret ingredient,’ and all the while, Buck keeps chewing on them. Eddie looses count after five, when he feels Bobby walk behind him and stop when he sees the scene playing out before them. 

“Does he know?” Bobby whispers in his ear, and Eddie shakes his head gently as Chimney appears on his other side, and Hen next to her. 

“Didn’t you say the cookies were …" Chimney’s forehead is wrinkled in confusion when he looks at Eddie. 

“Yeah. They are. I tried one.” 

“Huh,” Chimney’s eyes go wide. “Guess Buck really will eat anything.” 

“He will if Christopher’s there. Look at them,” Bobby gestures toward the kitchen. “We could be talking at full volume and he wouldn’t notice. I swear, he’d eat cardboard if he was paying attention to you or Chris.” When Eddie's head whips around, Bobby gives him an unamused look. “Haven’t you seen how he eats your brownies?” 

Eddie feels his face go hot as he realizes what’s been going on all this time. 

“I …" he trails off. 

“You know how people say ‘love is blind’?” Eddie nods and Hen continues. “Well for Buckaroo, I think love is tasteless.” 

The group disperses, returning to setting the table and uncovering serving dishes, but Eddie stays rooted to his spot. 

His mind is racing, back and forth between trying to comprehend how much Buck loves Christopher and that Buck apparently also loves him enough that he didn’t notice Eddie’s own terrible baking? 

_He wasn’t lying, he just had no idea how wrong he was._

Eddie stays stuck in that mental loop through the entire meal, participating just enough in the vivid conversation to keep everyone from noticing how he’s spiraling. He couldn’t recall what they discussed if his life depended on it, but no one asked him what was on his mind, so he’s inclined to call it a victory. 

After dinner, Bobby ropes Christopher into helping with the dishes, promising in a loud whisper that they can throw bubbles at Chimney while he loads the dishwasher. He laughs and asks if he can use extra soap (to make extra bubbles!) and follows Bobby into the kitchen. Hen goes with them, promising videos that Buck can send to Maddie, leaving Eddie and Buck alone at the table. 

“Hey, man.” Eddie nudges Buck’s arm to get his attention. “Saw you in there with Chris before dinner. Much as I appreciate you encouraging him, you do know you didn’t actually have to eat that many cookies, right? I know he worked hard, but I tried one and they tasted like sand. Spicy sand, but sand.” 

“Really? I didn't think they were that bad. Maybe a little crunchy, but not every cookie can be snickerdoodle-soft. Besides, I’d never turn down anything Chris cooked. Except maybe broccoli.” Buck wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like broccoli, regardless of who makes it.” 

“Is that … why you ate my brownies? Even though they were crappy? Because Chris helped make them?” Eddie asks each question carefully, trying to gauge Buck’s reaction, but he can’t get a good read on what’s going through his head. “Because I have to admit, he only helped with the first few. Did the rest when he was at school.” 

“Huh?” Buck shakes his head and blinks, looking at Eddie again. 

“Buck. Why’d you eat the brownies I make? No one else does.” 

“Because! I love you!” Buck’s eyes go wide as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and Eddie’s sure he looks just as surprised. “...R brownies. I love your brownies! I mean, c’mon, the crunchy edges and gooey middles? Best of both worlds, man. I don’t have to pick between a brownie and pudding.” 

Eddie nods slowly, letting the words sink in. 

_Buck ate the brownies because he loves him. Buck ate the brownies, and the muffins, and the pie, because … he loves him._

_Buck … loves him._

_Buck loves … him._

_Buck loves him._

Once it’s echoed off of his skull enough times for Eddie to really register the words, Buck has looked away again, scratching at a bit of food that’s stuck to the table. 

He thinks about what he could say in response, but he doesn’t have an answer. There’s really no reason he should be this surprised; even as he’s thought it over just in the last couple of minutes, the signs have really been right there for a while now. 

But Eddie has never considered his own feelings, just acted on what felt right along the way. And he owes it to Buck to think about that before he responds. He owes it to himself too, and Christopher. He knows that. 

So he stands up, clapping Buck on the shoulder. 

“Right. Well, I’m going to go see if I can track the little man down, ask about his spelling test today.” He waits for Buck to nod absently, then walks away, letting his feet carry him automatically in the direction of Christopher’s voice coming from the next room. 

He couldn’t tell you how Christopher did on the spelling test. Or the social studies packet he starts talking about next, chatting happily as the entire team stands by and listens, interjecting at all the right moments. Buck joins the group after a while, positioning himself on the other side of the table from Eddie. 

It looks innocent enough, but Eddie wonders if there wasn’t some careful intention in the way he circled the room before stopping to stand beside Bobby. 

Eddie tries to catch his eye, but Buck never looks his way. Eventually, he stops trying to look, and just thinks about everything he and Buck have been through, how he can’t imagine his life without his best friend in it, how it might feel to invite Buck even further into his life, into his bed. 

He has to stop thinking then, and let the stirring in his stomach die down before he gets himself into a situation there’s no explaining his way out of. 

And he’s pretty sure that’s his answer. He wants Buck in every way he can imagine, wants to share every part of his life with him, every part of himself. 

Now he has to figure out what to do about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will go up Wednesday! Any guesses on Eddie's next plan?


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Eddie's big plan!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Enjoy the riveting conclusion!

He thinks about it all evening, weighing the pros and cons between just sitting down next to Buck and pouring his heart out, or some sort of big romantic gesture. But he doesn’t want to do anything too public, wants to keep whatever they decide to become between himself and Buck until they can decide together who and how to tell. Eddie isn’t out of the closet to anyone, but to be fair, until just a few hours ago he really hadn’t thought he was even in the closet to begin with. 

And he’d be OK with people knowing, as long as Buck was OK with that too. 

But that’s still a few steps down the line. Before they get there, he has to figure out how to tell Buck how he feels. 

There’s only one thing he can think of, the thing that created this entire situation to begin with. 

_Brownies_. 

So he stops at the store on his way home, picks up the last six box mixes and an extra dozen of eggs. 

He leaves the sack in the truck until Christopher is tucked in and asleep, knowing that if he got wind of what Eddie had planned, there’d be no getting him to go to bed. And while Eddie has the day off tomorrow, Christopher still has to get up in time for school. 

Eddie’s idea may keep him up through the night, but it’s not like he’d get much sleep anyway, with the way the anticipation is buzzing through his veins. 

So he doesn’t even try. Instead, he carefully mixes each brownie mix, measuring every ingredient perfectly. There’s no additions, no substitutions. Just six batches of brownies, baked exactly according to the directions on the box. 

Of everything he’s done in his entire life, Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever put this much pressure on himself before. As each batch is finished and cooled, he cuts a piece from the center of one side and tastes it. 

The first batch is too dry, so after a little bit of googling, he reduces the baking time by a few minutes. 

That pan is still a little soggy in the middle, so he adds a couple of minutes back to the next round. 

(It doesn’t occur to him until much later that he could have just put the second pan back in the oven a little longer.) 

The third batch is baked all the way through, but the edges are a little burnt. Back to the internet, and Eddie crosses his fingers as he turns the oven temperature down a little bit and adds three extra minutes to the timer. 

He crosses himself too, then rolls his eyes and wonders what his Abuela would think if she knew he was praying over a pan of brownie batter. 

The fourth batch has a perfect consistency, and an almost perfect flavor, but there’s one more thing Eddie wants to try. He tosses an extra handful of chocolate chips into the next bowl of batter, remembering how his mother always said that the secret to the best brownies was a little extra chocolate. 

Worst case scenario, he figures, he can go with the fourth batch and pretend he had stopped there. 

But that won’t be necessary, because when he tastes the last brownie, still a little warm from the oven, he can’t help closing his eyes and sighing with relief. 

It’s just what a brownie should be: moist and fudgy, with a solid edge and a rich chocolate flavor. 

It’s just what Buck deserves: a perfect brownie after months of eating Eddie’s failures. 

He covers the pan with foil, stacking the other attempts in Ziplock bags on the countertop and finally lets himself brush his teeth and lie down. 

There’s only a couple of hours before his alarm goes off, but he can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad one. It means that he only gets a couple of hours to rest, but it also means that there’s less time to stress himself out about his new morning plans. 

Because before he knows it, his feet are back on the floor and he’s helping Christopher sweep up the Cheerios he spilled trying to make his own breakfast. Then they’re out the door for school, a brownie from the fourth batch tucked into the corner of Chris’s lunchbox with a note reminding him that he is R-E-M-A-R-K-A-B-L-E to help him visualize his next set of spelling words. 

As soon as he sees Christopher into the building, Eddie is pulling into a Starbucks drive thru lane. Usually he makes his coffee at home, but the cereal catastrophe had put everyone on a time crunch. Besides, he’s about to go on a sort-of stakeout, and it feels like the kind of event that necessitates a paper to-go cup. 

He takes his coffee, black with two sugars, and stops briefly back at his house to set a perfectly square-cut brownie on the center of a bright yellow paper plate leftover from Chris’s sleepover and reach for one of the special striped napkins he uses for the lunchbox notes. 

Pen in hand, he thinks back over the message he spent half the night drafting in his head. It’s as good as it’s going to get, he decides, writing the words neatly in block letters and setting the napkin beside the brownie, folded in half to conceal what he’s written. 

A layer of tin foil over the top and he’s back out the door, setting his sights on Buck’s loft. 

When he gets there, he leaves the truck idling on the street at the bottom of the driveway just long enough to set the plate on the front porch and drive away. Buck isn’t one for staring out of his front window, so Eddie is confident that he’s pulled off the level of covertness he needs for this to work as he parks around the corner, where he can just barely make out Buck’s front door between a couple of streetlights. 

He cuts the engine and pulls out his phone to text Buck. 

**Open your door.**

The typing dots appear almost immediately, and Buck’s reply pops up shortly after. 

_You have a key_

**Open your door and send me a pic.**

Eddie’s being weird, and he knows it, but he’d spent so long on the rest of the plan that he had failed to plan his texts before he was spying on Buck’s door. 

This time, there are no typing dots. Eddie’s eyes are flickering between his phone and Buck’s porch, watching for even the most subtle of movements in either place. He takes a sip of his coffee, but it doesn’t relax him, and he can tell that it’s nothing to do with the caffeine in the drink. 

It’s the longest, most painful wait of his life. Before today, that award had gone to Chris’s birth, but at least then he had a purpose. He could focus on comforting Shannon, paying attention to the doctors and nurses coming in and out of the room. 

There's nothing he can do now but wait, and think about how he really should have picked a plan that would have been easier for him to execute without trying to ride out the panic building up in his chest. 

Buck hasn’t opened the door yet, at least not that Eddie’s noticed, so it’s entirely possible that he’s just not seen the surprise. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or fixing lunch or something and can’t divide his attention just yet. 

Or maybe he’s trying to decide how to react without breaking Eddie’s heart. 

Just when he’s about to give up and drive away, try to play dumb about the whole thing if it comes up tomorrow at work, his phone vibrates. 

He glances down just long enough to see Buck’s name on the screen, then flips his phone over and looks up to stare at the roof of his truck. 

This is probably the text he’s been waiting for. Whatever the answer is, it’s the answer he’s been waiting for. Obviously, he knows what he wants Buck to say, but either way, an answer is better than not knowing. 

Isn’t it? 

Suddenly, he’s not sure. 

If he never reads the text, there’s no way for Buck to reject him. As long as the notification goes unopened, he’ll never be turned down. Of course, he’ll never know if Buck said ‘yes,’ but that really leaves him no worse off than he is now. He’d still know how he feels, and know how Buck feels, but not have a clue if they’ll ever be able to act on those feelings. 

But not knowing has been eating him alive, and it hasn’t even been 24 hours yet. At this rate, he won’t survive the week if he doesn’t open the text. 

So he carefully flips his phone back over and swipes his thumb across Buck’s name to pull up the message. 

Just like he asked for, it’s a photo attachment. He taps on the icon and waits for the image to load, holding his breath. 

Finally, it appears on the screen, a picture of the brownie and the note, with Buck’s enthusiastic reply. 

Where Eddie had written _My brownies love you too. Want the secret recipe this weekend?_ And drawn two checkboxes next to the words _yes_ and _no_ , Buck has responded with such vigor that there’s a tear in the middle of the napkin. 

Not only did he draw a checkmark in the box marked ‘yes’ (the source of the rip, where it looks like Buck started writing before the pen was ready for him), but it’s circled several times, and the word itself has several lines scribbled underneath it. 

Eddie feels his heart pound a little harder in his chest when he looks at the picture, and the next breath he takes catches in his throat when he closes out the image to see a new text message sitting underneath it. 

There are no words, just a long string of exclamation points, and what has to be every variety of heart-shaped emoji on Buck’s keyboard. 

He feels himself smiling so hard that his cheeks are beginning to ache, laughing to himself at the message. Of course Buck wouldn’t just check a box and send the picture. He never does anything by halves, and the thought of that terrifies Eddie as much as it exhilarates him. 

Dating Buck is going to be the most exhausting thing he’s ever done, but also quite possibly one of the most exciting. 

While he’s lost in thought, he feels his phone vibrate in his hand again, and realizes that he’s been distracted so long that it locked automatically. He bites the tip of his tongue gently, trying to quell some of his own excitement while he waits for the message to pop up on his screen. 

_Unless that really was just an invite for brownies_

_In which case, sure_

_But much more casually_

Eddie laughs out loud at that, the sound bubbling up from his chest before he realizes it’s coming. 

**Nah, I’ll take the first answer**

He looks at the message for a moment, then taps over to the emoji keyboard and adds a single heart, yellow like the plate the brownie is sitting on. Before he can overthink it any longer and delete the emoji, he makes himself send the message, and the three bouncing dots appear on his screen almost immediately. 

_Really?????????_

**Yeah. Friday night?**

_You’re_ _gonna_ _make me wait TWO DAYS?_

**They're brownies. You'll live.**

The dots appear, then disappear and reappear twice more, before his phone rings in his hand. 

Eddie laughs again, swiping across the screen to answer the call. 

“Buck?” He doesn’t get to say anything else before Buck is yammering in his ear. 

“What if I don’t make it two more days until Friday? What if I die and it’s because you made me wait? I could die of brownie deprivation, Eddie, and it would be your fault. Are you prepared to live with that?” 

He can’t help the next round of laughter at the sheer degree of Buck’s enthusiasm. 

“Considering that you work tonight, and I work tomorrow night, I think it’s a risk I’ll have to take. Besides, it’s almost noon, so it’s really only a day and a half. And Chris is staying with Pepa this weekend for a sleepover, so we can talk while we bake.” 

“And after we bake?” He can hear the teasing in Buck’s voice, can picture how he’s probably standing. Eddie can see him leaning with one hip against the kitchen counter, probably pinning his phone between his ear and his shoulder, raising his eyebrows and smirking as his hands rest on the fronts of his hips. 

It should terrify Eddie how quickly and clearly the image comes to mind, but instead he’s just amused at the thought of Buck acting so cocky when he’s spent all this time not noticing that Eddie’s baking was terrible. 

“After we bake?” He repeats Buck’s words with his own teasing edge, but this time he doesn’t push against the heat coiling low in his stomach. “Mmm, let’s see what you can talk me into.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining the ride! Let me know what you thought.  
> xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> *patiently awaits friendly and quiet screaming*


End file.
